Little Brothers
by Stunt Muppet
Summary: Some of us create and some of us rebuild. A series of oneshots, each detailing a day or two in the life of Horatio and Raymond Caine. Starts with their early childhood, stretches till just before the start of the series. Slight AU, not S6 canon compliant.
1. Names

Title: Little Brothers

Rating: Varies from PG to high PG-13/R-ish. Warnings will be posted before any chapters with mature content.

Disclaimer: CSI: Miami and all characters and situations thereof are the property of CBS, Jerry Bruckheimer, et al. No copyright infringement or personal profit is intended.

Info: This is a series of one-shots; each chapter is self-contained and details a day (or two) in the childhood and young adulthood of Horatio and Raymond Caine. A few notes before we begin:

1) I don't recall anyone ever saying what the age difference is between Horatio and Ray, so I have them four years apart. This is as much an issue of narrative convenience as anything else; if there's a huge age gap between them, then they wouldn't get nearly as much of a chance to interact.  
2) I'll note the brother's ages before each chapter begins, since that's easier than try to work a discussion of their ages into each story.  
3) For obvious reasons, some details of this story, such as the elder Caine's first names, where exactly they live, the boys' friends and hobbies, the precise order in which things happened, etc., must come from my own mind and may not turn out to be precisely canonical. Also, this fic's timeline was stamped down and finalized in the latter days of Season 5, with only a minor adjustment made for very early Season 6 canon; all plot developments after that will not be incorporated. Thus, this fic is slightly AU.  
5) These aren't in chronological order.

After that far-too-long Author's Note, on with the show!

* * *

Chapter 1: Names 

Horatio: 11

Ray: 7

* * *

"Mom?" Horatio Caine walked into the door, unceremoniously dropped his bookbag, and sat down at the kitchen table. 

"Hmm?" Mom didn't look up from washing her dishes.

"How old do I have to be to get my name changed?"

She stopped in mid-scrub. "Eighteen, I think," she said. "Why? What's wrong with your name?"

"I don't like it." He slumped forward onto the table and stared at the wall. Mom put down the pan she was scrubbing, dried off her hands, and sat down next to her son. He continued, "It's too long. And it just sounds weird. And nobody else is named that."

"Well, why would you want the same name as everyone else?" She asked. "How many kids do you know named…John? Or Andrew? Or Dan?"

"…a lot," Horatio replied, knowing where this conversation was going.

"But you're the only Horatio, isn't that right?"

"Yeah." But that was the _problem_.

Mom smiled, seeing the dejection in her son's face. "It may not seem like it now," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder, "but when you're a little older, you might appreciate not being mistaken for anyone else." She got up and went back to her scrubbing. Horatio didn't move.

"Besides, 'Horatio' is a beautiful name," she continued. "It's dignified. It's a name for Shakespearean characters, and for naval heroes, and for the greatest novelist who ever put words to paper…"

He tuned her out, absentmindedly biting on his fingernails. He'd heard this before, and he really didn't care if 'Horatio' was a heroic or dignified or Shakespearean name. The fact remained that it was cumbersome and awkward and didn't fit him right, like a hand-me-down sweater.

Besides, since when was "Shakespearean" a good thing in a name? Nobody named their kids Hamlet.

"Stop biting your nails, dear." Mom's voice cut through his thoughts. She hadn't looked up.

Giving up, Horatio picked up his bookbag again and retreated to his room. Ray wasn't home yet; Dad wouldn't be back till late; he had a moment, at least, to himself. He collapsed on his bed and stared up at the ceiling.

Maybe it was just a name you needed to grow into. There were plenty of names you grew out of; no reason it shouldn't work the other way around.

He picked up his book off the floor, opened it to the bookmark, and started to read. And that normally would have been enough to keep him occupied for the next hour or three.

But after about a half-hour, he put the book back down. Something was different today; the quiet of his room was not calming but suffocating. His oasis felt more like a prison cell.

Maybe he'd spent a few too many days in here.

Taking the book and the bookmark with him, Horatio headed back to the kitchen and returned to his place at the table. Mom was still there; she'd almost finished with the dishes by now.

"You still mad?" She said after a while.

"About what?" He looked up from the book.

"I thought you were upset with me." She put the last of the dishes back in the cabinet and shut the door. "After you went stomping off to your room like that..."

"I wasn't stomping."

"If you say so." She turned to leave, and Horatio noticed a bruise on her wrist that he hadn't seen before.

"What happened?" he asked, before she could leave.

"Hm?"

"Your wrist. What happened to it?"

"Oh." She seemed taken by surprise. She smiled nervously, looked away, rubbed at the purple-and-black mark. "I slammed the door on my own hand, if you'd believe it."

He didn't. And he was about to ask a second time when he saw the look on her face.

The wan smile was still in place, but it might as well have been taped on – it was too thin and too weak to conceal the worry underneath. And the light was suddenly gone from her eyes; she looked tired, too tired to argue, too tired to explain. She very clearly did not want to talk about it.

He went back to his book, but all he could think about was that face.


	2. Puzzles

Chapter 2: Puzzles

Horatio: 9

Raymond: 5

* * *

The edges of the puzzle had been put back together; all Horatio had to do now was fill in the middle. 

It was a very old puzzle, left to gather dust in some closet; the picture was fading and the pieces were starting to bend. It had two hundred of those pieces, at least at some point. He'd been working on it for almost three days now, in between school and homework and dinner and bed. It had been tedious at times, but there was something very gratifying about finishing a puzzle, about reassembling the picture on the box out of hundreds of broken fragments.

Ray tried to help every so often, but his idea of "helping" amounted to holding up a piece and asking "How about this one?" And he would inevitably grow bored after a few minutes and would go off to play with something else.

There was a spot near the top left corner that was almost complete, except for a hole where five or six pieces should be. Horatio shuffled through the remaining pieces, looking for something that fit.

"How 'bout this one?"

He looked up. Ray was holding up a single puzzle piece – clearly the wrong shape and color for the spot he was looking for. No harm in humoring him, though.

"Well, let's see," he replied. Ray bent over the puzzle and tried to jam the piece into an available gap. After a few tries he gave up and shook his head.

"That one doesn't fit." He picked up another piece, seemingly at random. "What about this one?"

Horatio smiled, then picked up the puzzle box so that the lid faced Ray. "Let's try something else. That part of the puzzle makes this part of the picture, right?" He indicated the upper-left corner.

"Uh-huh."

"And this part's already done. So look for a piece that has a picture on it like…this." He pointed at the spot on the picture that matched the missing pieces. "Okay?"

"Why?"

"Picture's gotta match too." He put the box down. "Wanna help me look?"

Ray nodded, then started digging through the pile of pieces.

Through their bedroom wall, Horatio heard a door slam. Raymond ignored it, too intent on his search.

"Look, all I'm saying is," It was Dad, somewhere on the other side of the wall; his voice was raised, but he was not yet shouting. "After I spend all day and half the night busting my ass for you, it'd be nice to get a 'hello' or a 'how was your day' – just something besides 'Don't swear in front of the boys'."

"They're _children_, Nathan." Mom's voice was sharp and cold. "I'd rather they not pick up your bad habits just yet."

He came upon a piece that matched. It had just the right pattern of colors and lines printed on it; it belonged in that spot. It looked about the right shape, too.

But when he tried to put it in place, it wouldn't fit.

"D'ya think they don't hear all that at school anyway? Or when they're walking outside? They're gonna hear it eventually; why's it such a problem?"

"Well, fine, then. Fine, let's just teach them how to smoke _right now_. Let's teach them how to get so drunk they don't know their own names – hell, they're gonna learn eventually! You want to teach them that too?" Her voice rose almost to a scream.

Horatio checked the puzzle piece on the lid of the box. The picture matched right where he thought it would. So, if it matched, why didn't it fit?

He tried turning the piece, bending it, forcing it into place. No good.

Ray was looking at the door.

"Wha – are you accusing me? When have I _ever_ had a drink in front of them, huh?"

"You think they don't _see_ you when you're sitting in front of the TV? You think _I _don't see you? You think we all can't see that by the time you get up off that couch you don't know which way's up?"

There was a noise like a clap, and his mother's voice stopped.

There was nothing he could do about it. The piece simply didn't fit where it should have. The puzzle couldn't be finished. And who knew how many more pieces there were like that?

Dad's voice was quieter now. "You listen to me," he said. "No – get back here and _listen to me_. Everything I have ever done, I have done for you and for our sons. I have worked every single damn _day_ for them. I gave them the house they're living in, I gave them the food at their table, I gave them their clothes on their backs. I've given them _everything._" Louder now. "And I don't care what you think about me, but you had goddamn well better _respect that_!"

It couldn't be fixed. It couldn't be finished.

Horatio dropped the puzzle piece and retreated to his bed.


	3. Sick Day

Chapter 3: Sick Day

Horatio: 13

Raymond: 9

_

* * *

_

"Ray?" Mom poked her head into the boys' bedroom. Her youngest son was still in bed even at this hour, the covers pulled up to his nose. "Ray, honey, get up. You're going to be late for school."

"I'm not going today," he said, his voice weak and miserable from under his blanket. "I feel really sick."

Horatio, who was packing his backpack in the corner, rolled his eyes. Mom didn't see him; she was too busy making her way to Ray's bedside.

"Really?" She said, putting a hand to his forehead. "What hurts?"

"My head," he replied. "And I feel like I'm gonna throw up."

"Hmm. Yeah, feels like you've got a temperature…"

Ray coughed harshly, just for good measure.

"Maybe you should get some rest today. I'll go get the thermometer and see if you've got a fever, okay?"

"'Kay."

Mom nodded, pulled the bedcovers up to Ray's chin, and walked out of the room. Horatio shot his brother a look. "Nice one, Ray."

"Nice one what?"

"You're not sick. You were holding a hot water bottle to your forehead before she came in."

"Shhh!" Ray sat up. "Look, I really, _really_ can't go to school today, all right? We were supposed to be making a diorama for Reading class and I didn't finish mine. I need another weekend to do it."

Horatio shook his head and stood up, backpack on his shoulders. "You already _had_ two weeks."

"I know I already had two weeks," Ray slumped back into his bed, sulking. "You're not gonna tell Mom, are you?"

"Not this time," his brother smiled. "But she's going to catch on eventually. This is what, the fourth time you've stayed home sick?"

"I _was_ sick that first time, Horatio," Ray protested. "I had chicken pox, remember? You can't fake chicken pox."

"I'll bet you could if you wanted to." He said as he walked out the door.

* * *

The sidewalks of New York City spilled over with humanity at every hour of every day; actually getting anywhere took determination, strong shoulders, and an eye for tiny breaks in the crowd. Horatio had five years of practice weaving back and forth through the gaps between human beings with his brother in tow, so making the journey from his apartment to his school on his own seemed easy by comparison.

Someone's arm smacked him in the face as he neared the first crosswalk, and again he longed for the day when he would be taller than somebody besides Ray. It would be nice to see the traffic light change before he flung himself into the intersection, at least.

He had to admit, he might have tried to call in sick today himself, if he'd thought for an instant that his mother would buy it. School had become dull and featureless these past few weeks; winter break was approaching, attention spans were shortening, and the teachers had more or less given up on doing any instruction. And, because they had to use their class time somehow, they would break out the educational videos from the dawn of time, and anyone who wasn't playing poker in the back of the room or loudly discussing their social life (read: him) got to stare vacantly at a flickering black-and-white image of the periodic table or some such thing while an extremely old man's voice droned just out of earshot.

But he wouldn't have gotten away with it even if he'd tried. Ray was by far the better liar of the two of them. Always had been.

The school building was only a block and a half away by now; he recognized the distance even if he couldn't see it. _Last chance to keep on walking_, he thought as he approached. _It's not like they'll notice you're gone._

He knew he wouldn't really keep walking, no matter how much he wanted to or how many good reasons he gave himself for doing so. He wasn't even seriously thinking about it. Not going to school today was a possibility in the same way that biking down the interstate was a possibility. Sure, you _could_ do it. But would you?

He walked into the building and headed for his locker.


	4. Wedding

Sorry for the delay; this chapter was substantially longer than the others, and thus took forever.

Chapter 4: Wedding

Ages: Horatio: 28

Ray: 24

_

* * *

_

If Horatio hadn't known better, he would have thought Raymond was actually nervous about this. He had parked himself in front of the mirror for the past hour, adjusting his bow tie, fiddling with the carnation in his lapel, tugging on the edges of his tuxedo.

"Think I'm okay?" He asked, straightening his cuffs.

"You look fine, if that's what you mean," Horatio replied, putting on his own jacket. "Besides," he added with a smile, "nobody's going to be looking at you."

"Good point." He closed his eyes and exhaled. "That reminds me, would you mind checking up on Yelina and the bridesmaids? She won't let me see her before the wedding."

"Right away." Horatio headed for the door, but not before stopping and pointing at his brother. "And Ray? Don't screw this up."

Ray laughed. "Horatio, I never screw up. I improvise."

"Well, don't improvise, either." And with that, he headed out the door.

Ray returned to the mirror. He couldn't say he was nervous, because there weren't a whole lot of mistakes he could possibly make. He'd already shown up sober and in a tuxedo that fit; after that it was just speaking when prompted and heading home with his bride.

Of course, he'd managed to remain calm mostly by not thinking about the fact that he was, indeed, getting married.

He'd finally hit one of those Life Milestones. He was getting started on that real life thing everyone kept talking about.

_That_ made him nervous.

He'd already been practically married to Yelina for months now anyway; they did everything short of living together, and they spent so much time at one another's homes that but for a lack of suitable paperwork they would have been doing that too. What purpose did all this ceremony serve, except as a distance marker on his life?

But the Salas family had insisted, so here he was, about to sit through an hour-long Mass and an hour-long ceremony and an interminable reception during which he had nothing to look forward to but greeting relatives that he would never see again. And he'd do it in a solid-black tuxedo with narry a cigarette in sight.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

Horatio knocked once on the door to the women's dressing room; he heard laughter inside, and Yelina's voice answered. 

"For the last _time_, Ray, you can't see me before the wedding! Go away!"

"Wrong brother."

"Oh!" After a few seconds, Yelina appeared at the door. "Sorry. You wouldn't believe how many times he's been in here."

"Actually, I would," Horatio said with a smile. "Raymond just wanted to see if you were ready."

"Almost." She opened the door all the way and indicated her dress. "How do I look?"

Horatio paused. The dress was certainly beautiful, neither too plain nor too gaudy, and her veil trailed around her face like an earthbound cloud, but he was still unused to seeing Yelina in anything other than the suit she wore to work. It was strange enough when she wore skirts and short-sleeved blouses; in her full, formal gown she looked like a different person.

"You look great," he said, without elaborating. "Your veil's a little crooked, though – here, let me get that…"

"Yelina!" A bridesmaid whose name he couldn't remember came running up to the door. The bridesmaids – the entire wedding party, really, except for him – were all from Yelina's side of the family, but he'd neglected to learn exactly who they all were and how they were related. He knew that the maid of honor was Yelina's sister and the first bridesmaid was some undefined cousin, but beyond that they were all just faces in peach-colored silk. "Do you know where my bouquet is? I haven't seen it all day!"

"They're all on that middle table, Claudia, that's right where I left them," Yelina replied, turning to face the bridesmaid and pulling her veil even further off-center.

"Well, they're not there anymore. Everyone else has theirs, and – "

Someone yelled "Somebody missing a bouquet?" somewhere in the back of the room; Horatio vaguely recognized the voice as belonging to the maid of honor. Claudia darted back out of sight. Yelina turned back to him, an exhausted smile on her face. "Sorry," she said. "We're all a little nervous."

"Are you?" He asked as he finished straightening her veil.

"A little, yes. I mean…it is my wedding." She gave a small laugh. "Why? Is Raymond?"

"You know, I'm not sure. He's uneasy, if that helps."

"I figured." She paused in the doorway. "I've still got to finish getting dressed, so…"

"Yeah." Horatio nodded. "Yeah. I'd better get back, too."

"I guess I'll see you in a few hours."

"See you then."

* * *

One hour, twenty-six minutes and counting. 

They'd already sat through the Mass, which was exactly like every other Mass Raymond had ever sat through in his life, but with a longer sermon and more off-key tenors in the congregation (if he never heard Uncle Alberto massacre another Communion hymn, it would be far too soon). And then someone had to calm down the flower girl, because she'd gotten restless and run off (she was all of five; what did they expect?)

But somehow, they'd all lasted and made it to the important part. And his vows were most certainly not this lengthy the first time they'd rehearsed, but Yelina was smiling as bright as the noon sun, and it was hard to stay cranky when she looked like that.

What was it about women and weddings, anyway? Yelina couldn't be happier, the bridesmaids were beaming, and Yelina's mother was weeping theatrically into a handkerchief in the third pew somewhere. Did they not get bored with all the ceremony, or were they just better at faking it?

He glanced back at his brother, who gave him a reassuring grin. If he was as deathly bored as Ray was, he wasn't showing it.

The reverend was asking for the rings; Ray snapped out of his stupor just in time to reach for the ring-bearer's pillow. Somewhere behind him, his mother-in-law let out another sob.

Jesus, was the thought of him as a son-in-law _that_ bad?

* * *

Horatio had been dreading this. The best man's job was fairly simple: give pep talks to the groom, look decent in a suit, lead the maid of honor around on your arm. All straightforward. 

Except for two things: the toast and the dance.

He figured he'd think of something appropriately embarrassing to say about his brother once the moment came, but right now, seventy-five percent of the family was staring expectantly at him and the glass of champagne in his hand, and he had nothing to say.

Maybe if he just stood here and didn't say anything they'd give up and look somewhere else. Not a fantastic plan, but better than dropping the champagne and leaving.

"Ah…" He looked down at the champagne flute. "Raymond, I suppose congratulations are in order." Good, good start, you can keep going from there…

"Now that you've managed to find someone who can stand you." Good, they were laughing. This might not go too badly.

"I have to say, I wasn't very hopeful when you told me…told me you'd met Yelina at a crime scene." Pause, see if anyone laughs. "But, look at you both now."

What else was there to say, really, at least that he could say in front of all these people he didn't know? 'I'm glad you didn't turn out maladjusted', maybe? 'Nice to know one of us is capable of a functional relationship'?

"Mom and Dad would have been proud of you, Raymond," he said, holding up the champagne glass. "I know I am." There. He'd finally done it – finally referred to their father in the past tense. Now all the old man had to do was die. "To your new life."

The rest of the room – including the twenty-five percent that had mercifully not been listening – raised their glasses in response.

The reception, for the most part, passed in a blur from that point. He was introduced and introduced again to relatives he could barely distinguish from one another; food was served; cake was cut; more toasts were made; Raymond and Yelina took to the dance floor, and Horatio found to his surprise that his brother had bothered to learn how to dance (very well, for that matter).

About two-and-a-half hours in, while trapped in small talk with yet another roving band of in-laws, he caught his brother's eye. Raymond was accepting handshakes, hugs, and various congratulations from (if Horatio remembered correctly) Cousin Michael and Tia Marta and their cousin…he was blanking out on her name.

Over Michael's head, Raymond looked at him, and mouthed the words _Help me_.

He walked over with a smile. "Excuse me – you mind if I borrow my brother for a moment?"

Once outside the church, Raymond sighed and leaned against a wall. "Jesus _Christ_," he hissed, as if he'd been waiting all day for the chance to blaspheme. "How does she stand having all this family? It's like they're multiplying behind my back or something – new cousin crawls out of the ventilation ducts while I'm not looking. You got a smoke?"

"Anything for you, brother." Horatio pulled a pack out of his pocket; someone would have noticed it in the pocket of the groom. "So you're not enjoying your wedding day?"

"I never said I wasn't enjoying it, Horatio." Raymond pulled a lighter somewhere from the recesses of his tux and lit the cigarette. "It's just…exhausting. Only so much festivity a guy can take, you know?"

"I know what you mean." He glanced at his brother. "Are you happy?"

"Huh?"

"Are you happy?"

"Course I'm happy, Horatio; why wouldn't I be? I mean, I am marrying the most wonderful woman in the world." He grinned, and twirled the lit cigarette between his fingers.

Horatio laughed. "I am proud of you, Raymond," he said. "You know that, right?"

Ray's grin faded to a smile, and he looked at the ground. "Thanks."

They didn't speak after that; Horatio stared out at the street as Ray burned the cigarette down to the filter. Grey smoke mingled with ozone and dust, disappearing almost as soon as it left his lips.

"You'd better get back in there before your wife misses you." Horatio said at last, as the last ashes burned down.

"She's got the rest of her life to get sick of me, Horatio." He dropped the stub into a nearby ashtray. "I'd think she'd like a couple minutes away from me."

* * *

He took Yelina by the waist as they walked up to their house. "We're married." He said, smiling. 

"We certainly are." She wrapped her own arm around him and leaned in close. "You're officially stuck with me for life."

"I thought I was anyway."

"You were. But now it's official." They stopped at the door. "You're not going to carry me over the threshold?" She asked.

He sighed. "I have to carry you, now? Honestly, Yelina, making me do all the work…"

"Excuse me," she tapped him on the nose. "Which one of us planned this wedding? Which of us picked out the dresses? Sent out all those invitations? I think I've earned the right to be carried over the threshold of my house if I want to be."

"Fine, fine. Up you go." He reached out an arm to catch her as she leaped up – and staggered melodramatically under her weight. "Ugh…_oh_ God…oh, I think someone had too much wedding cake…"

"Shut _up_, Raymond." She laughed as he stumbled over to the door, opened it one-handed, and set her down inside. "There, see? Was that so hard?"

"You have no _idea_, dearest." He said, kissing her lightly on the lips. "It was a burden every step of the way."

"I'm sure it was." She smiled, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "I'm sure it was just unbearable."

* * *


	5. Leaving, Part 1

Little Brothers

Chapter 5: Leaving, Part 1

Horatio: 18

Raymond: 14

A/N: I amended the first chapter to include this note, but just in case, I'll post it here too. The final timeline of events for Little Brothers was stamped down, or finalized, or whatever you want to call it, in the latter days of Season 5. Now, I've tried so far to alter the timeline in accordance with new revelations in canon, but we're getting to the point where I can't anymore - I can't rewrite and rework these events over and over again, or I'll never get anything written. As such, Little Brothers is now, officially, AU. It's a very slight AU, and is still mostly canon-compliant up until, say, 6x01 (so That Big Spoiler's covered, kind of), but some things won't be the same way they are in canon.

(This is especially true because I only just re-watched a few episodes that prove my timeline incredibly wrong. Facepalm.)

Moving on now...

* * *

Raymond was well aware that he should have been helping Horatio pack. Specifically, he should have been doing that for the past two weeks, so they wouldn't have ended up tossing everything into a suitcase at random like his brother was doing right now.

But really, Horatio seemed to have a handle on packing, more or less, so Ray could comfortably assume that his services were not needed. Which, in turn, left him free to sit on his bed and needle his increasingly frustrated older sibling.

"You sure that suitcase's big enough?" he asked, glancing at the battered blue luggage set on the floor. "It's almost full already."

"Doesn't need to be all that big, does it." Horatio didn't face him. "It's just college. I don't need every single piece of clothing I've ever owned."

"Yeah? What if you forget something?"

"I'll be half an hour away, Raymond; I could just come back and get it."

There was a moment of silence between them. "You're leaving soon as you finish getting packed, aren't you?" Ray finally asked, more for something to talk about than anything else.

"Yes, Ray. I'm pretty sure I've told you that already."

"You're not saying goodbye to anyone?" Ray asked as his brother rummaged through his closet. "How about the Girl from Ipanema; you break the news to her yet?"

"She's from _Peru_." Horatio's exasperated reply was muffled by row upon row of T-shirts. "And yes, I did; we broke it off last week."

"Why?"

Horatio paused just long enough to shoot his brother a look. "Because I'm leaving for college, maybe?"

"You'll only be half an hour away."

He was about to reply when he realized that their conversation had lapped itself and gave up.

"Hey, all I'm saying is, she's hot stuff. Especially since you're gonna be spending the next four years with a bunch of wound-up pre-law kids and wannabe cops. Seems like a waste to just let all that go over a half-hour commute."

"It's not just the commute; I won't be living here anymore. Gets harder to manage when I won't see her every day. Besides –" Another shirt was pulled off its hanger and dropped unceremoniously to the floor. " – it's not fair to make her wait for me, don't you think?"

"Who said anything about fair?"

He ignored the comment once again. "Do you have any idea where my blue shirt is? I just put it back up yesterday; I know it's here."

Ray glanced back at his brother's bed. The shirt – cobalt blue, with tiny grey buttons and a collar and cuffs ironed into submission a hundred times over – lay folded on the pillowcase, set aside for packing and forgotten. But he wasn't about to tell Horatio that, because so long as his brother stood there looking through his closet, he couldn't close up that suitcase and head out the door.

* * *

"You all packed up?" Dad looked up as Horatio rolled his suitcase through the front hall.

"Just finished." He stopped, halfway to the front door.

"Put your suitcase in the trunk. I'll drive you there."

"I already called a cab, Dad." And even after all this time he couldn't meet his father's eyes. "But thanks."

"Oh. Okay, then. When's it coming?"

"It should be here in a few minutes."

"'Kay." Dad fell silent, looking at the floor. "Look…I know it's been hard not having your mother around. I know you've, ah…" He shrugged, and there was a mirthless smile trying to take hold on his face. "I know you've really had to step up, look after your brother. And I just wanted to let you know I'm proud of you, all right?" The smile gave up. "I really am."

"Thanks, Dad." He should have punched his father, really he should have – right then, right there, because what could Dad do to him now? And he was standing there, in the middle of that same damn room, talking about Mom like she'd just up and left one day.

But he wouldn't do it. Of course he wouldn't. He never would. It didn't matter that, rationally, he knew he was an adult now and didn't have to do a single thing his father said. Rational thought had nothing to do with it, because no matter what that was still Dad giving him that sheepish, apologetic face. _Don't talk back to Dad_ was engraved into his brain as thoroughly as _Thou shalt not kill_.

At a loss for anything else to say, Dad held up his arms, inviting a hug which his son grudgingly obliged. He didn't smell of alcohol the way he used to, Horatio noticed; come to think of it, he hadn't seen his father touch a drop for days now. Maybe weeks.

Why did Dad bother with the hug and the goodbye and the sendoffs, anyway? He wasn't fooling anybody. Did he think someone was watching, checking to make sure they were still an appropriately normal, domestic family? Did he think he still had to put on this show?

"You'd better get going." Dad's voice was only a rumble by now.

Yes, he had. If he stayed in this house one more second he was going to be sick.

* * *

Thus far, today, Raymond had been the proud and happy owner of his own bedroom for no less than four hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty-four seconds (he'd been counting). And he was relishing every second of it.

Oh, sure, at some point he knew he'd start to miss his older brother; it would take a while to adjust to the absence of someone who'd been there his entire life. But for now, he had his own. Damn. Bedroom.

He had the complete and unrestricted freedom to leave his laundry on his brother's bed without enduring a glare (and a mini-lecture, if Horatio was in a bad mood for whatever reason). He could leave the lights on all night if he wanted to. He had the option to kick up that Sabbath album as loud as he desired and air guitar like a crazy person without listening to any snide commentary.

Fine, maybe that last bit had nothing to do with having his own room. But it would be nice to go through an entire round of "Supernaut" without hearing "You might want to think about a day job, Ozzy."

So far, he hadn't done much with his newfound freedom, except lounge on his own bed and enjoy the absence of anyone else in the room. Occasionally he would get up, walk around, play basketball with the trash basket and a crumpled-up paper sheet, or come as close as he could to turning a cartwheel without hitting the wall – just because he could, he had that space now.

Four hours, twenty-one minutes, and forty-two seconds. He could certainly get used to this.

It would be odd, though, not having him around. Horatio had been his constant, the one thing that was always present and always the same. After Mom died there'd been only Dad and Big Brother, and Dad had so withdrawn recently that he was barely even present anymore. Mom was gone, taken away, and Dad was Out There Somewhere if he really cared to look (and he didn't), but Horatio was always _here_, right next to him, keeping an eye on him, helping him with his homework one minute and telling him to _please get your damn socks off my bed, Raymond _the next.

He had never really been by himself. On his own. Alone in a room.

Not that being alone in a room was a bad thing, he thought as he stretched out his arms and yawned. One less person looking over his shoulder; what was there not to like about that?

* * *

A/N: One last note, because I know someone's going to call me on it: Yes, I know that Ozzy Osbourne is not the guitarist for Black Sabbath. But Horatio doesn't know that. Hence his comment. 


End file.
